The Dirt, the Dream and the Doctor
by OTR Barcelona
Summary: Tommy is plagued by terrifying dreams every night.  But one night, a stranger called the Doctor appears in his nightmare and nothing will ever be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

**The Dirt, the Dream and the Doctor**

_This story occurs between "Journey's End" and "Planet of the Dead"_

**Chapter 1**

And the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His mouth went dry. His heart was beating so fast that he was sure he could hear it as well as feel it pounding away in his chest and up his throat. Tommy was more frightened than he had ever been again.

He stood in the ruins of the old mill. The large courtyard-like room and dusty floor that used to host the thundering textiles machines. The grey sky peered at him through the many cracks in the roof.

Then deathly silence. It was only interrupted by a faint sound outside. Tommy thought it sounded like an explosion. A very quiet one. So quiet that it could have just been a twig breaking off a tree or a pebble falling to the ground. Then came another sound, louder this time. And this time there was no mistaking it. His heart got louder too, his mouth that bit drier. He knew that it was coming for him.

He would have screamed but his voice had gone. He would have run, but his clog-clad feet had become rooted to the floor. In his mind he called out for the mother he never knew.

Another noise. A louder explosion, this time accompanied by tinges of fire in the watchful grey sky. Now Tommy ran. He had to.

Across the factory floor, to the door at the very far end. He could lose it in the nearby woods, whatever it was. The floor seemed to go on forever, the door remaining small at the other end of the room, mocking him. The noises behind him got louder, more frantic, cracking and booming, sending snapping snares sailing through the room.

He reached the door. Archie had always said that the door was made for little people. Some of Tommy's brown hair got stuck in the rotten doorframe, tearing itself out, but he didn't care. He ran along the muddy corridor, the darkness hiding the sight of his own feet from him. It was always worse when you didn't know where you were treading, he thought to himself. The light at the end of the tunnel was just a pinprick in the dark. The crashing got louder, Tommy could almost feel the cold heat on his back. The light still wouldn't get any bigger, so he had to will it to.

He looked behind himself, and he still couldn't see his pursuer. But he knew it would be upon him soon.

His will was with him, it turned out, and he finally arrived at the end of the tunnel. The ground was so muddy, littered with half-sunken iron tools. A copse of sad trees surrounded the small clearing. They hunched over, as if to mourn the boy whose life would soon be extinguished. It was upon him now. There was no escape. The booming filled the tunnel. Louder. Louder. Tommy began to wonder if drowning in all the mud would be worse than the thing chasing him.

Drowning in the mud. His feet started to sink into the dirt on the floor. First the bottoms of his clogs, then his shins. The moment he started to wonder where the rest of the mud was going, he felt something drop from his eye onto his cheek. A tear? He supposed it would be quite normal for him to cry. But that wasn't it. It was mud. First a weep, then a fully fledged bawl, the mud started flowing like a river from his eyes, then out of his mouth. He was now as literally rooted to the spot as he had only felt when all this began.

His time was short. It was all happening again. But then something happened, something that had never happened before. He felt another hand grab his. A warm, strong hand. He looked up, and there stood a man holding it. A man dressed in a long beige coat that went all the way down to his feet. He was young, maybe thirty years old, although his eyes gave the impression of someone far older. The man parted his lips and said one word: "Run!"

Tommy needed little encouragement. His long-coated saviour pulled him out of the mud, stopping the dirt flowing from his eyes and mouth. As they ran, the stranger pulled something from his coat. It was a thin metal cylinder, about six inches long. He pointed it towards the door frame at the end of the tunnel and it made a sound like a kettle boiling. Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy saw the ancient brick collapse, leaving a pile of rubble where only minutes ago his life saving aperture had been. He wondered if the man was a mythical wizard, and if the metal device was his wand.

After weeks (or was it seconds?) the man's step mercifully began to slow down. "We can stop running now", he said.

Tommy looked around. To his astonishment they weren't in the wood anymore. They were at the centre of the village, just outside the baker's shop, around four miles from the mill.

"We were just in the woods", said Tommy, "Johnson's Bakers is miles away!"

"Dreamscape topography", mumbled the stranger, scratching behind his ear and taking a sharp breath through his nose, "very unpredictable. Acts like it's got a mind of its own. In fact it has". As he said this he tapped Tommy on the forehead.

He then began to notice the brown pinstripe suit behind his rescuer's coat, and the strange red and white shoes, now caked in mud.

"I've never seen you before", said Tommy, "but today you've rescued me. Who are you?"

A vague frown creased the man's head. "Oh, sorry, sometimes I do get a bit ahead of myself. I'm the Doctor. And I think I've just rescued you from something very nasty".

"Al-Mon".

"Al-Who?"

"Al-Mon. He comes for me. Hides in the shadows and I never see him, but I know he's there. Always there. Always coming. For me. Al-Mon". Tommy's voice began to quake. He thought his ability to speak may soon leave him again.

But with an almost practised resolve, the Doctor addressed him. "Listen – what's your name? –"

"Tommy".

"Listen, Tommy. It may seem something unbeatable to you, but believe me, I can help you. I have experience fighting against –", he thought for a second "- things".

"Things? What sort of things?"

"Things, well, all sorts of things, well, monsters. Mainly I fight monsters. And giant robots too". He took in another sharp breath through his nose and continued. "Tommy I promise I can get you out of this, but I need your help".

As the Doctor was talking, Tommy almost didn't notice the sky darken around him. Purple, black clouds shrouded the village, and the sound of booming suddenly blasted back to life the baker's shop exploded, followed by the school building down the road.

"He's here!" cried Tommy.

The Doctor grabbed Tommy's pullover as he began to run. "Listen, this may seem hopeless, but let me explain. . ."

But there was no explanation. Without warning, the cobbled street they stood on exploded. Rubble burst out of the floor like high pressure water from a hose, knocking Tommy in one direction and the Doctor in another.

The sound was deafening, and Tommy could only lip-read the Doctor shouting his name when the debris cleared from the air. He felt himself starting to sink, the mud rushing up through his entire body to start spewing from his mouth and eyes, so quickly he knew his tear ducts would soon start to rupture.

Even the Doctor couldn't help him now. It was hopeless. So Tommy did what he always did when it was hopeless.

"Al-Mon, Al-Mon!" shouted Tommy. He had no problems speaking now. He was caked in his own sweat, quaking with fear. All around him he heard groans, the groans of the others, as if they had all been awakened from a good night's sleep.

A light went on. It was Sally, the nurse. "Boys! Boys! Calm down, it's okay. It's okay, Tommy".

It had been hopeless. So Tommy had done what he always did when it was hopeless. He woke up.

Continued in Chapter 2 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She had to see him. It was something in his voice, his eyes.

Sally Taylor had only been working at the institution for a few weeks, but something hit her the first time she had spoken with Tommy. She didn't know quite what, but he always seemed troubled. In fact, he had always seemed haunted. It wasn't quite depression. She knew that depression was a sort of flat feeling, quite common amongst loners in schools, orphanages and other institutions. But he wasn't depressed. It was like he was deliberately hiding his feelings, afraid that he would totally break down if he ever dared to let them out.

And the night he had woken up screaming she realised just how little she understood the extent of his problems. She knew that she probably couldn't do anything to help him, but that didn't matter. She had to t.

She found him in the lounge the next day staring out of the window. It was a Saturday afternoon and most people were fixated on Grandstand. But not Tommy. He was on his own as always. He was staring so intently at nothing that Sally assumed he must be watching the shapes floating around in the vitrious humor in his eyes. She spoke to him softly, but felt that she may as well have been crashing a pair of cymbals in his ears.

"Hi", she said. Tommy sat bolt upright, as if cymbals would have been quiet compared to Sally's voice. "I just wanted to talk".

"What about?" asked Tommy.

"About last night".

"I really shouldn't be talking to you about my problems", Tommy frowned. "It wouldn't be right".

"But something's obviously bothering you and I thought that maybe I could try to help".

"You can't help me. I don't think anyone can".

"Let me try", insisted Sally. Surprisingly he began to speak.

"Al-Mon. He comes for me. Every night when I go to sleep he's there. Waiting for me in my dreams".

"Al-Mon?"

"Yes", replied Tommy, the fear in his voice stepping up a little. "I know that he's always there. He can do things, he can make things happen to me. I just know that he's always coming. But he can't hurt me here. Only when I sleep. I never have a quiet night's sleep like you".

Sally's empathy for him grew. She realised what a terrible pair of worlds he lived in: a loner by day and plagued by unimaginable nightmares by night. She really wanted to help him, but thought to herself that she would be opening a huge can of fat juicy worms. She thought for a whole minute, and then said in the gentlest, most sympathetic voice possible, "Al-Mon isn't real. You're safe from him". She put her hand on his shoulder, knowing that what she had just said must have been uttered to Tommy so many times that it now probably felt like a kick in the shins.

"But he is", replied Tommy. "He's real for me".

"But has he ever caught you?"

"No. I always wake before he catches me. I've never even seen him".

At that moment the sound of a bell rang through the room. It was dinner time. One by one, all the people in the room turned away from Grandstand and walked out to get some lunch. Sally realised that she should go and help out. She did work there after all.

"I'll be back as soon as I can", she whispered to Tommy. She hadn't got two paces away from him when he spoke again. She thought he was just mumbling at first, but when her brain started to process the sounds she realised he wasn't. "But last night, there was someone else in my dream. Someone who's never been there before".

"Another nightmare like Al-Mon?" Sally asked, hoping for anything but an affirmative answer.

"No", said Tommy, his expression at least slightly giving the cloud a silver lining. "Someone who could help. Someone who says he's dealt with things like Al-Mon before. Someone called the Doctor".

"Hey, Taylor!" one of the other nurses broke Sally's concentration. "Lunch time. Are you just going to stand there all day?"

"Sorry", said Sally, red in the face, reluctantly going to hand out whatever cheap food they were serving that day. She walked out of the lounge, wishing with each step that the door would not get an closer to her. But this was reality and in seven short, unwilling strides, she was out of the room. No sooner had she walked through the door when she heard a voice behind her. "Miss Taylor", a rasping male voice said. She turned around and there behind her was Doctor Sneed, new head of the institution. He was about six feet four tall, extremely thin, with balding grey hair and lean glasses. He was immaculately dressed in a black pinstripe suit with an equally black tie and a white shirt. His shoes were so clean that you could probably see your reflection in them. So dark, thought Sally, they were almost blindingly bright. The first time she had seen him, she had thought that he was a zombie. She was beginning to realise that she had never actually modified her thoughts to think of him as anything else.

"Yes, Dr Sneed", she said.

"I notice you were talking to Tommy Boys".

"Yes. He's upset".

"Disturbed", Sneed corrected, an almost snake-like hiss in his voice. "You would be better to just leave him alone".

Sally felt her heart sink and her mouth go dry, just like when her teacher found out that it was she who had spilt the hydrochloric acid on his lab coat.

"What was he talking about?" The question made her jump.

"His nightmare", she replied, practically involuntarily.

"His nightmare, you say. What about his nightmare?"

"He keeps being chased by something called Al-Mon. And last night he dreamed about some kind of doctor". She smiled trying to lighten the situation. "Probably a doctor like you".

Sneed leaned closer to her, thinning his serpentine eyes a little. "Nothing like me, Miss Taylor. Nothing like me at all".

_To be continued in chapter 3_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The room was quiet. But it was the kind of quiet you can hear. The soft cool cylinders of nothingness just palpating your eardrums.

Tommy stood in a dusty old storeroom about ten by ten feet. He realised it was a cellar, like the one at the cobblers' shop he used to work in. Yes, that's where he was. He took a few steps, his clogs breaking the pleasant silence. As he walked, he began to make out wooden boxes filled with bits of shoes, leather and laces. There would be a tongue here, a sole there, it looked like a shoe hospital. That's it, "shoe hospital". That's what he used to call it.

But it all felt so strange. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but something wasn't right. it was then that he remembered that the cellar was pitch dark, so he shouldn't have been able to see at all. Then he heard a soft padding. It wasn't like the clear clunking his clogs made on the stone floor. No, more of a muffled tapping.

"Hello, Tommy", the voice came behind him.

He whirled around to see a man in a long coat, a pair of funny shoes and a pin stripe suit, complete with badly tied tie and a youthful, slightly mischievous grin on his face. The Doctor. He was dreaming again.

"Doctor?" he said, "I thought this place was weird".

"Well", said the Doctor, in a sort of _I told you so _tone, "you made it. Straight out of your subconscious. And we're in a room. A dusty old cellar by the looks of things, a sort of – ", he glanced at the wooden boxes lying around, "- shoe hospital". He took a sharp breath of air through his nose.

"That's what I used to call it too", replied Tommy.

Nodding, the Doctor went on. "Yeah, 'shoe hospital', great minds", his voice raised a good octave.

"I may have made this room", said Tommy, "but I'm sure I didn't make you. I've never met anyone like you before. I've dreamt about Al-Mon so many times, but the other night was the first time I met you".

The Doctor frowned. "Yes, Al-Mon", his voice was now back to normal, and his grin snapped back to a pensive frown. "But why isn't he here now?"

"Should he be?"

The Doctor looked at him. It reminded Tommy of the time Mr Clarence, his teacher, had looked at him when he still didn't understand the multiplication of fractions, even though it was the third time he had explained it to him. Except that he didn't expect the cane from the Doctor.

"You don't know, do you?" said the Doctor.

"Know what?"

"Suppose I should start at the beginning", grumbled Tommy's companion, scratching the back of his right ear. "Are you ready?"

Tommy nodded, reluctantly.

The Doctor began. "Well, firstly you're right. Unlike anything else in this place I am real. Well, sort of. Well, I was. Well, hopefully I will be once again, and you can make that happen. I'm a Timelord. I come from a planet called Gallifrey, and I spend my life travelling around the universe in a blue box fighting, and occasionally running from all sorts of monsters".

Tommy's eyes betrayed his confusion. "No, really", countered the Doctor, "that's who I am and that's what I do. But recently one of those monsters trapped me".

"What in my nightmare?" asked Tommy.

"Oh you're really bright, aren't you", smiled the Doctor. "An Oneiric Wraith, that's what he is. Not actually too strong, but he does have one thing going for him. He's a master of the Membrane, that wibbly-wobbly line between what's real and what isn't. Reality and fantasy. Dreams and, well, the world you live in the other two-thirds of your life. I'd cornered him in a church tower when he used the sonic resonations from the church bell to power his transference and maroon me here. In your nightmare? Still with me?"

"But this isn't exactly a nightmare", replied Tommy, a little confused and looking around himself. "I mean it's weird, but there's no sign of Al-Mon and we're not being chased".

The wind suddenly driven from his sails, the Doctor seemed to screw up his face. "Oh, yeah. We're not are we?" He started to pivot around on the spot, glancing in bird-like movements now here, now there, as if the answer may be written on one of the walls. "Ah!" he suddenly exclaimed, as if the answer was indeed written in front of his face. "What did you eat before you went to sleep?"

"Roast beef followed by cheese and biscuits".

"That's it!" exclaimed the Doctor. "His reality transference does draw strongly on the agitation of the REM state sleep of the dreamer".

"What does that mean?" asked Tommy.

"That he's banished me to your nightmares", said the Doctor, pausing and scratching himself on the back of his left ear, "and your cheese dreams. Cheese dreams too. But cheese dreams are great, I love cheese dreams", he went on, grinning like a schoolboy, "you can have loads of meaningful conversations in a cheese dream. And we have a lot to talk about. Tommy, I'm trapped in your nightmares and I need your help to get out. That thing, that creature, whatever it it that's chasing you", Tommy interjected ,"Al-Mon".

"-that's it, 'Al-Mon'", the Doctor went on, the word no longer foreign to him, "you have to destroy it".

"But why me?"

"Because you created it. It came out of a dark corner of your mind. When the Oneiric Wraith created a door in the membrane, its transference mechanism centred on the person in its vicinity with the strongest nightmare: you. There were quite a lot of people in that church. What was going on?"

Pushing back the boundaries of reality, straining to remember exactly what he had been doing, Tommy finally recalled. "It was a funeral. My best friend Archie".

"I'm sorry, Tommy", said the Doctor, now genuinely sad, as if he understood exactly what Tommy was feeling. He continued, the usual sharp tone of cheekiness now totally gone from his voice. "The transference mechanism sought you out and trapped me in your nightmares. Now I get chased through your dreams with you. I'm so sorry".

"Why are you sorry, at least I have someone to protect me now".

"I'm sorry because I can protect you here, but not in the real world. As soon as the Oneiric Wraith finds out it's your dreams I'm in, he'll come for you. at the moment I only exist inside your head, so to kill me, it has to kill you".

"We were both wrong. This is a nightmare after all".

"A nightmare you need to beat", insisted the Doctor.

"But how?" demanded Tommy.

"You need to find out what it is. What inside you created Al-Mon. then, if you can get to the church tower where the hole in the Membrane was formed, if you can stop Al-Mon I should be able to get back into reality".

"But I have no idea how to defeat it", said Tommy.

"Then you'll have to find out how", countered the Doctor. "You'll also need a sonic amplifier".

"What's that?"

The Doctor put his hand inside his coat and pulled out his shiny wand. Tommy forced a smile. "The wand that sounds like a kettle?"

"That's right", smiled the Doctor. "You may need help. Take this to the church tower and press the button at the top".

"But how?" asked Tommy, "how can I take something from a dream?"

"Well, the quantum aperture is still fairly close to the source, so I can force some small objects through it, but nothing remotely the size of a man".

"What does that mean?"

"It means when you wake up look under your pillow".

"But I've fallen asleep in the lounge".

"Alright, look around yourself when you wake up. But you need to be quick. The Oneiric Wraith as probably found you already".

"What?" asked Tommy.

"Seven", came the reply.

"What do you mean 'seven'?"

"'Leotard'", answered a woman in a pink dress about fifty years old.

He had woken up. He was still sat in the lounge and Countdown was now on one of the gameshow channels. He realised he was sweating all over, just like when he wakes from a nightmare. He tried to relax, but there was something pushing into his back. It took a great deal of effort, but he managed to swivel around in his chair. He felt a metal object with his hand, and pulled it before his face. He couldn't believe what he was holding before his eyes.

"Just a four, I'm afraid", came the voice of a young man from the television.

"And what's your word?" asked the host.

"'Wand'".


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The commotion was already in full swing by the time Sally got into the room. Tommy Boys had woken up and was panicking. She had returned to the lounge for such a mundane reason. She had forgotten her keys. She heard the shouting from down the hall and the sight that greeted her was enough to shock her.

Tommy was shouting about Al-Mon and the Doctor and something about the bell in the church tower. He was contorted like an old rag doll, discarded quickly and carelessly, with Doctor Sneed leaning over him with a syringe.

"What's going on?" asked Sally. She was most surprised that the softly spoken question made Sneed jump.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, as if he were talking to an errant stray dog.

"I forgot my keys", she replied.

"Then don't you think that you should simply collect them and depart, young lady?"

She hesitated. Tommy was wheezing. "Miss Taylor, help me".

Sneed turned back to Tommy, as if he no longer even acknowledged Sally's presence. Then he ruined the illusion by talking. "Our Mr Boys is very troubled. A fast acting sedative should provide a valuable first step toward solving his problem". His voice was snake-like as was his deft movement, injecting Tommy in the neck. He then dragged his victim toward the door, not seeming to worry about banging his already bruised leg onto the hard wooden table.

Tommy knew he had only seconds to act before the drug took effect. As he passed Sally, he dropped a cold metal object into her hand. He murmured so softly that it was difficult for her to distinguish it from a groan. But the words she was sure she could hear were "press the button at the end", "bell tower" and "take me there". Sneed rounded the corner with his burden, leaving Sally standing there holding an object that reminded her of an unbreakable pen that her uncle had once brought her back from Japan. Except there was no nib, just a round blue light on one end and a button at the other. Temptation got the better of her and she pressed it. Without warning the glass from the ornamental lights shattered, as did the television screen. How did Tommy get such a strange device? Well, at any rate, Sally didn't have to put up with Countdown anymore.

Tommy was in a tiny room that smelled of something that made him think of fear. The earth floor was muddy, and there were some small wooden pieces of furniture, their legs sinking into the dirt. He moved over to the table, his clogs making an all too loud squelching sound in the mud. He inspected the metal cans with the remains of cheap cups of coffee and tea clinging to them, and half imagined, half remembered how dangerous it could be to drink from them. He walked over to the small cupboard on the wall, that long lasting sickly feeling of dread slowly coming back to him. He knew that there was something terrifying lurking behind that tiny door, but he had to see it. He had to remember.

He squelched and splashed right up to it and opened it. The object behind the door was so terrifying that it made him fall to the muddy floor, soaking his shirt and shorts, and getting dirt on the inside of his clogs.

It was a small shaving mirror. The most terrifying object in the world.

And so he ran. Out of the small room through a door so small it could hardly contain even his modest frame, supported by a low wooden beam that threatened to give way any second. All that he could think was to head for the green, head for the trees, and hope no one was watching him.

Sally stood in the lounge dumbfounded. There was a thought that was trying to get out. She looked at the orange carpet, strewn with all different shapes and sizes of glass shards, with selective sparks still flickering from the television set and holding the bizarre device in her hand.

Suddenly it hit her. As crazy as it seemed, it was true. Everything that Tommy had said about the dreams, Al-Mon and the Doctor. She didn't understand it, but she decided that it was the only thing that made sense. And if this was true, Tommy may be in real danger.

She got angry at herself for wasting a whole second on this thought, and then she hastily followed Sneed and his limp burden out of the room. The corridor was antiseptic and white, dotted with notices and safety warnings.

She was conscious that she had been as quiet as possible, when Sneed interrupted the silence. "Following me, Miss Taylor?"

"Just worried about Tommy".

"I told you that he is trouble and needs sedation", said Sneed, his quiet voice not at all belying his anger. Coming to his office door, he fumbled for his keys.

"Make yourself useful, Miss Taylor", he said. "Hold the patient upright whilst I search for the correct key".

She knew that this would be her only chance. Tommy would be in real danger unless she acted now.

Looking around, her brain seemed to work faster than it ever had before. She took in all the safety warnings and notices, calculating almost incidentally that she had been put down for over 48 hours' work next week. Then she saw it, almost looking up at her. The friendly red fire extinguisher. As she took it from its holder she wondered just how horrified the people who wrote its instructions would be at the use she was about to put it to.

Sneed hit the floor with a thud. Sally hoped her instincts were right.

Now he was running through the fields. The pleasantness of the trees and flowers all around him contrasted the constant feeling that he was breaking the rules. The rules you could die for breaking. Most of the mud on his clogs had been wiped off by running through the grass. For just an instant he thought he might get away.

But then it happened. The grey steely sky turned blood red, and a faint booming started.

He felt his adrenaline kick in as he ran faster. And he couldn't stop thinking about the shaving mirror. His heart threatened to break out of his chest as he ran.

Just a mirror.

Perfect for a quick shave.

That's all Frederick wanted.

But the sun.

The bright, bright sun.

It reflected off the mirror.

And the gunman saw it .

A sharp crack, and Frederick's blood was everywhere.

It had been the instant Tommy realised death was real.

He was heavier than Sally had thought. Asleep he was a dead weight. She dragged him out of the front door. She had been sorely tempted to hit Sneed with the fire extinguisher again, but had managed to resist the temptation. But somehow she knew that it would only be a matter of time before he was after her. Thankfully Morton was only a tiny village, and no two buildings were very far apart. She dragged Tommy's sleeping body over the cobbled street, in the general direction of the church where he had been at Archie's funeral just days before.

He was running like he had never run before. The booming was growing ever louder. In a moment of forgivable stupidity, he half-glanced backward, remembering what had happened to Lot's wife. Grey mud was bubbling up out of the ground behind him, choking the grass and flowers. It was flowing far faster than he could move and he knew that soon he would start to sink in it.

Faster and faster he ran.

Sally had never known the church was so far away. She finally managed to drag Tommy into the graveyard and towards the doorway. In her haste, she was only slightly relieved to find the door unlocked. As she pulled Tommy through it she looked upward. There at the gate of the churchyard, some twenty metres behind her was what looked like a zombie from a 1920's silent movie. Sneed had recovered inhumanly quickly.

Tommy had to rest. He was wheezing now, feeling that the breath in his body was being replaced by a burning gas. Again remembering Lot's wife, he decided not to look back. Not even his curiosity was that great anymore. It was then that he saw it; a small, peaceful looking tree in the middle of all the tumult. He made for the tree, not knowing any better.

Old churches didn't have lifts or escalators. At the moment Sally wished they did, as she pulled Tommy's limp form up the old spiral staircases. Sneed would catch up to her any second. She was confident that on any other day, she could outrun the old man. But on any other day, she wouldn't be lugging Tommy around. With a split-second's relief, she pushed open the wooden door at the top of the stairs and walked through. She was in the bell chamber. Now what?

Whilst the rest of his world was the stuff of nightmares, the lone tree reminded him of the truly peaceful dreams when he was younger, before his innocence was lost. It looked relaxed as it stood there.

As he approached it he felt that he could finally stop running. That he was actually allowed to relax. He was now standing about a two feet from it, when he saw something on it, perched between two of its branches at his head height. At first he thought it was a piece of broken glass, but then he realised what it was. A shaving mirror. Tommy froze as he saw the sun glint off it and heard a cold and oily sound behind him. He was going to die and he knew it. As he fell to the ground he heard the shot.

He was suddenly aware that he was lying in the mud and that there was a man on top of him. He then realised that he had fallen to the ground just before he heard the shot. He looked up at the man who had just saved his life.

"Hello, Tommy", said the Doctor.

The bell tower was old, dark and quiet. It smelled of a fusion of old wood and stone. As Tommy lay there on the floor, Sally thought that even sleeping, he looked troubled. And then the footsteps started. Regular in rhythm, getting ever louder, up the spiral staircase. Sally grabbed the small metal device from her pocket. She had absolutely no idea what it was, but hoped that it would work against Sneed. Her thoughts raced, and she knew that she couldn't even come close to giving a rational explanation for what she had done that day.

Louder now, and ever closer. Sneed's steps were like the second hand of a clock ticking away the final few seconds of a condemned person's life.

And then finallly he came to view in the dark doorway,l his head cocked to one side, jarred by the fire extinguisher Sally had used. No man moves like this, she thought, pointing the metal object at his as if it were a gun.

As the Doctor helped him to his feet, Tommy knew that one way or another it had to end today. "Are you okay, Tommy?" asked the Doctor, his face creased by lines of genuine concern for the person he had just saved.

"I'm alive", replied Tommy, almost surprised. He somehow knew that, a mere reality away, his heart had just skipped a beat. He looked around. All the green was gone. The grass had been engulfed by mud. There were no leaves on the trees, and even some of the trees themselves had been blasted into splintered stumps. Then he noticed the booming and the bits of chipped wood flying through the burnt air and wondered how long it had been going on and why he hadn't noticed before.

"Tommy, come on!" said the Doctor, now in a panic, snapping Tommy firmly out of his melancholy.

"What's happening?!" cried Tommy, now in a total state of confusion.

"It's your nightmare", barked the Doctor, "I have no idea. Come on, we need to get away!" He grabbed Tommy's sleeve and pulled him away with a sharp tug, past the deceptive tree, now itself a withered, blackened stump.

The mud was growing ever deeper, ever thicker. Tommy felt his clogs sinking into it and knew that he was going to lose them. They were going noticeably slower now. He turned to see the Doctor's back, his long-coated saviour no longer moving. His heart pounding, he turned the Doctor around. His face had changed. Mud now seeped out of his eyes and mouth and his white shoes were no longer visible as he sank into the mud. And his throat was rumbling.

Even he can't beat Al-Mon, thought Tommy, as the pounding grew and now even parts of the red sky started to explode.

The rumble in the Doctor's throat grew louder as Tommy turned back to him. A vomit of mud cascaded from his mouth, clearing his throat. The rumble had been a muffled scream all along.

"Tommy!" screeched the Doctor, perplexed, "Now! You have to defeat Al-Mon now!"

"But how?! It's been chasing me for years, how can I stop it now?!"

"Find out where it came from".

Tommy put his hand to his chin. Think? At a time like this? The Doctor had overestimated him.

"And what's that booming?" added the Timelord, "It's driving me mad".

The booming. Always the first sign that Al-Mon was coming, getting louder ever louder. Followed by the sinking mud and the burning sky.

"Wait a minute", the Doctor said to himself, his throat now clear, wiping the tears of mud from his eyes. "The booming, the mud, the explosions". Tommy could almost see the cogs turning in his companion's mind. He then looked up at Tommy like he was about to shout "Eureka!". He had a youthful enthusiasm in his eyes that Tommy seldom saw anymore. And when he again spoke he asked the strangest question:

"Tommy, how old are you?"

"Fifteen", he blurted out automatically.

"Think!" shouted the Doctor. "You think of yourself as fifteen, but how old are you really?"

Pushing back the boundary of reality, Tommy concentrated. Memories of the real world flowed into his mind, momentarily choking back the dream. He remembered Spring when he was young, the sweet shops, the factories and playing cricket until dark. He remembered working in the cobblers, making shoes, day in day out, with its monotonous smell of leather. He recalled seeing a group of children playing and the painful realisation that he was no longer as young as he once was. And he remembered the home. The old people's home he had lived in for the last twenty years.

"No", he struggled, "I'm not fifteen".

He looked up to the Doctor and faced him head on. "I'm a hundred and twelve".

Before the Timelord's eyes, Tommy started to age. He grew taller, thinner and his hair began to grey. His clothes changed as well, from a brown sweater and shorts and clogs to thin white pyjamas and a black dressing gown, clinging to the form of an old man. The process wasn't horrific, as the Doctor may have thought. In fact, he saw a certain natural rhythm and beauty to it that he would never have imagined.

"The War", said the Doctor. "You fought in the First World War, in the trenches. The booming, the mud, the explosions, it all fits. And you've been dreaming about it ever since".

Tears stung Tommy's wrinkled face. "And", he started but couldn't finish. Catching his breath, he tried again. "And I was just a boy. I lied about my age. I was only fifteen when I enlisted. I saw people die, get shot, drown in the mud. I was only a child!" he screamed as an old man would.

The Doctor regarded him, as if trying to look into his soul. Although he didn't speak, Tommy knew to translate his expression as "please continue".

"And one day we", another gulp for air, "we had to charge, go over the top. And I got lost. I hurt my eyes and tried to get back to my company. It must have taken me days. I was wandering through no man's land, blind, it's a wonder I didn't die. And then a French company found me. They looked after me, but", his face shifted to a mask of horror, "they were attacked. The Germans were charging".

The Doctor guessed the rest, seemingly picking up Tommy's own narrative. "And they were afraid. They were shouting, crying in fear. 'Germans! The Germans are coming. Attention, attention, ils viennent, les allemands, les allemands!'"

At the mention of the word, Tommy stood bolt upright. "Allemands", he said, "the French word for 'Germans'. 'Al-Mon'".

"You could hear the terror in your saviours' voices, so your mind created a nightmare out of what those voices were saying", concluded the Doctor.

All of a sudden, there was an explosion behind Tommy, knocking him and the Doctor to the mud ridden ground. A huge figure erupted from the ground. Its legs looked human, wearing black boots and grey military trousers. But the top half of its body looked like it had been carved from iron. Its arms were raised above its head, as if cheering on the acts of carnage it had caused.

After more than half a century of being chased, Tommy finally addressed the creature directly. "Al-Mon".

"You have to defeat it", came the Doctor's voice from behind him.

"I can't", cried Tommy. "It's stronger than me".

"That's your choice", countered the Doctor. Then, his voice softening, he continued. "Tommy, the War is over".

And then it stopped. The booming and the explosions. The sky turned from grey red to blue, and the mud sank back into the floor, to be replaced by grass and flowers. Like a planet breaking from its orbit, Tommy forced himself upwards. He walked over to Al-Mon, who now looked very out of place in the peaceful landscape. He leaned over and tapped the creature. There was a blinding flash, and it simply vanished. Tommy thought it somehow wrong that something that had plagued him for such a long time should be extinguished so quickly. He turned around to the Doctor who now had the expression of a proud parent on his face. "Thank-you", he whispered.

Standing in the gloomy bell tower doorway, the zombie that had once been Doctor Sneed addressed Sally in an even creepier voice. "Why, Miss Taylor, why?" It was something between a hiss and a whisper. "You should have just let him die". His voice faded out as he walked toward her.

She couldn't believe what had happened in the last few hours, but there she was facing off against a zombie in the bell tower. And she did the only thing she could think to do. She pointed the blue light end of the metal device at Sneed and pressed the button once more. A faint sound emerged that reminded her of her grandfather's kettle boiling. Then louder, and louder still, reverberating off the bell and creating a deafening wall of sound. Sally thought her eardrums were going to rupture, and as for Sneed. . .

A mixture of lightening and fire engulfed his body. He shot up into the air backwards, as if he had just received the ultimate electric shock. Banging into the far wall, he fell down to the floor and remained motionless.

After a moment's shock, Sally remembered Tommy. She ran over to his sleeping body, his snow white hair looking like a soft feather pillow. Checking his heart and breathing, she was puzzled. He actually seemed to be sleeping soundly now. She ran her finger through his hair, as if she was stroking a sleeping cat.

"He's a hero, you know", said a voice behind her.

Whirling around, Sally expected to see the Zombie Sneed towering about her. But something was different this time. This voice had been friendly. When she was facing the other direction, she saw a man whose footsteps she hadn't heard. He was wearing a brown pinstriped suit, with a light blue shirt and a red tie, along with a pair of red and white trainers. He wore a long beige coat which ran almost the full length of his body. He was extremely thin, and had a cheeky, angular face and brown hair. "I've fought all sorts of things in my time", he continued, "but I've never beaten one just by tapping it. Particularly one that's caused me as much trouble as Al-Mon has caused him".

There was only one explanation. "You're the Doctor!" exclaimed Sally.

"Yeah, that's me. And I believe you have something that belongs to me".

"Oh", she said as she realised what he meant. She handed the metal device over to him. "This", he went on as if trying it to selll it back to her, "is a sonic screwdriver. Oh, and thank-you. If it hadn't been for you, I'd have never gotten back".

Suddenly she remembered Sneed. She looked over to him, and the Doctor followed her gaze. "Oh, he's an Oneiric Wraith", he said, taking a sharp breath in through his nose.

"What will you do with him?" she asked.

"Well, you know that asteroid belt between the seventh and eighth planets orbiting Proxima Centuri?"

"Can't say that I do".

He smiled. "I think I'll leave him there". He turned and walked over to his opponent's unconscious body.

"I'll never see you again, will I?" she asked, now raising her voice a little.

The Doctor slowly turned around and shook his head. For a moment he looked like he was going to step toward her, but then stopped himself.

"Take care of him", he said, pointing towards Tommy.

"Always", she replied.

And then the Doctor turned, took the body of the Oneiric Wraith and carried it out of the small wooden doorway, and was gone, leaving Sally and Tommy all alone.

They didn't hear from the Doctor again. Sometimes they would wonder just who he was an where he came from. Tommy thought that he had once known, but the details were slowly leaving his mind like the memory of a half-forgotten nightmare. He was an old man now. But from that night on, he always slept soundly.


End file.
